


an unbecoming emotion

by lightningcricket



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, inaccurate science, sorta cracky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningcricket/pseuds/lightningcricket
Summary: Bill never thought the term ‘babysitting’ would end up being so literal.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	an unbecoming emotion

**Author's Note:**

> No, I don’t know what I’m doing, thank you for asking. Timeline here is very hand wave-y, somewhere after Kemper and the panic attack, but before they go to Atlanta. 
> 
> Title is a paraphrased quote from The Picture of Dorian Gray;  
> “The secret of remaining young is never to have an emotion that is unbecoming.” 
> 
> Please forgive any OOC-ness, this is my first crack at writing fic, feedback appreciated!

Monday had started like any other Monday. Bill had come into the office and grabbed a mediocre cup of coffee from the cafeteria on his way to the basement. He’d greeted Gregg and Holden and went into Wendy’s office to look over some paperwork they needed to fill out for their next interview. This one was in Minnesota with a Henry Carson-West, convicted in 1968 for murdering five people by injecting them with insulin.

“That’s an unusual one.” Bill frowned as he read the case file. The mugshot showed a short, stocky man with sloping shoulders. His beady, pale eyes stared at the camera and his unconvincing combover stuck out in every direction. He looked eccentric, but not like a killer. Bill grimaced at the thought of how often the monsters turned out to be the ones who looked most unassuming and inconspicuous.

“That it is.” Wendy made a few annotations in the margins of the file. “He worked as an orderly at a local hospital. Hated his job, apparently. Thought he deserved more respect from the doctors and patients. All his victims were above 50 and chronically ill. What’s interesting about his case, apart from the unusual method of murder, is the fact that he not only tried to frame the victims’ doctors for the crime, but also went to some of the funerals. He left flowers and told the families he had gotten to know the deceased very well before their passing.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot up. “Guilt, maybe?”

“Hm. Maybe. But why would he go to the funerals and lie to the families? There’s great risk in doing that. Most killers are content with simply returning to the place where they killed or collecting souvenirs from their victims. It’s almost unheard of for a murderer to openly go to his victims’ funerals like that.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Anything else need signing?” Bill straightened from his stooped position over the desk. He winced as he heard his back pop.

”Nope. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”

“Alright. Thanks, Wendy.”

Bill stepped into his office and groaned as he saw the pile of boxes lying on his desk. He had promised Dawsey that he’d drop off some of their case files and notes at his classroom. He’d collected as many of them as he’d been able to find, dropped them on his desk, promised himself he’d do it on Monday, and immediately forgotten.

Bill stuck his head out the door and called across the room. “Holden!”

Holden was sitting at his desk, furiously scribbling something on a scrap of paper. Bill called louder. “Holden!”

Holden’s head snapped up. He frowned. “What is it, Bill? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“I can see that. C’mere for a second.”

Holden shoved his chair back and stalked across the room, trying to keep himself from scowling. In the background, the busy hum of the now active Behavioural Science Unit agitated him further. He was _so_ close to cracking this case. An hour more and he’d have something to call Ridgefield PD about.

“What is it, Bill?”

“Grab a couple of these boxes. We’re gonna go up to Alan Dawsey’s classroom. He’s an old friend of mine. Asked for some of our notes since he was teaching about a couple of our interviewees in class. I’ll drop off the paperwork for the next interview on the way.”

Holden frowned. “I’m working on the Ridgefield case. Can’t you take Gregg?”

“Nope! Grab those boxes, private.” Bill cheerfully barked as he hefted up a stack of files.

Holden resisted the urge to roll his eyes or whine. He grudgingly lifted the boxes and began walking. Gregg raised his eyebrows as they passed by.

“Hold down the fort, alright? We’ll be back in a bit.” Bill told him as he walked by.

Gregg nodded and went back to transcribing their latest interview.

\- -

Holden was staggering under the weight of the boxes by the time they reached the classroom. It was empty except for a tall, lean man standing next to a desk with his back to them. He was pulling on his suit jacket and had a hefty book clutched under an arm.

“Alan!” Bill greeted loudly as they staggered in.

The man turned around, his earnest face breaking into a grin. “Bill! How are you? What’s all this?”

Bill huffed as he set down the files and motioned for Holden to put the boxes down. Holden let them drop on the desk and panted. “Alan, this is my partner, Holden Ford.” Alan shook Holden’s proffered hand. “We brought over some of those files you asked for on Thursday. I’m sorry I brought ‘em over a little late, but well,” he gestured at the pile of boxes and files “there was a lot to get ahold of.”

“I’m sure there was.” Alan bent down and peered at the files with a hunger in his eyes that Bill found rather vindicating. He visibly composed himself and straightened up. “I can’t thank you enough, Bill. The students are gonna go crazy over them. You could have just given me a call, you know. I would’ve sent some interns down to collect them.”

“It’s nothing. I thought I’d come up from the dungeon, get some fresh air. Happy to help.”

“Much obliged, Bill. You know,” he paused and leaned in almost conspiratorially “if you boys aren’t in a hurry, I’d love to show you around the R&D Department. These new kids have come up with some real swell stuff, I tell ya.”

Holden began opening his mouth to make his excuses and run back to the basement, but before he could so much as squeak, Bill said, “We’d love to take a look around, Alan. Lead the way.”

Holden glared at him as they followed Alan. “You _know_ we have a case. I’m _this_ close to finding who poisoned those kids.” Holden whispered.

“A few minutes away from the case files won’t kill you. Some exercise’ll be good for you, Holden. Besides, it’s important to know what’s going on in the other departments. You never know when you’ll need something they have.”

\- -

Holden silently sulked all the way to the main laboratory of the FBI’s Research and Development Department. Bill did his best to conceal his amusement at his partner’s sullenness and miserably failed. They finally reached R&D and stepped inside the laboratory. Bill’s eyes flicked around the wide, open room, sun streaming through the huge windows and illuminating long shelves and cabinets, sectioned into neat little open cubicles. There were beakers and test tubes and weighing scales on nearly every shelf. Lab coat wearing scientists milled around the huge lab, all of them with half finished gizmos in their hands.

Alan led them to a sectioned off cubicle to the left and showed them a tiny metallic capsule. Holden listened to him wax poetic about advanced bugging technology for almost twenty minutes before zoning out of the conversation. Bill barely noticed as he stepped out of the sectioned off area, engrossed in his discussion with Alan. Holden moved around the lab, chatting with the researchers, who were delighted to tell someone all about their latest project. He pointed the ones interested in his work in the BSU towards Bill so he could regale them with war stories.

As he walked around the lab, his attention split in five different directions, Holden nearly bumped into a scientist. He was crouched over a rack of covered test tubes full of clear liquids, tinted red. “Oh! Sorry about that.” Holden murmured as he righted himself. He craned his neck to peer at the test tubes. “What are you working on?”

The scientist glanced up. He was young, maybe even younger than Holden, with floppy brown hair and a scrawny build. He had a pair of safety goggles hanging around his neck, and his long, gloved fingers resumed their careful work, scraping reddish brown powder out of a petri dish into an uncovered test tube. His name tag announced that his name was J.P. Harris, and he was a trainee.

“It’s pretty experimental,” the young scientist muttered, straightening, an uncovered test tube in hand “We’re trying to come up with a caducity retraction solution.” At Holden’s blank stare, he hastily explained. “Its main purpose, more or less, is to regenerate damaged tissue and nerves by slightly reversing the ageing process. It’d be invaluable for field agents and the civil sector would get a kick out of it.”

“That’s fascinating.” Holden said, eyes widening. “How effective is it at the moment?”

Harris had preened a bit at Holden’s admiring tone, but now he looked a little crestfallen. “Well...it’s still in developmental stages, you understand. We’re still working on a couple of things. I’m sure we’ll get the formula right soon!” he added hopefully. “But at the moment it’s a bit unpredictable. The animal trials have been...confusing.”

“How so?” Holden asked, immensely curious. Just as the words left his mouth, there was a loud bang at the far side of the row of shelves, and frantic shouting erupted as students swarmed to put out a small fire that had broken out. Startled by the bang, Harris jerked and splashed the solution in the test tube he had been holding. Some of it spilled out onto Holden’s hand, soaking his cuff. Harris looked utterly, almost comically horrified, eyes going wide as saucers. He let out a loud gasp and stared at Holden’s hand, eyes bugging out as the liquid slowly dripped to the floor. He carefully placed the test tube back in the rack, pushed the whole thing into a cabinet and firmly shut it.

He then rounded on Holden, who was trying to dry his hand with the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“No, don’t!” He grabbed Holden by the arm and shook him, wild-eyed. “Is your hand burning or stinging in any way? Do you feel strange? At all?” He quickly turned and peeled off his latex gloves, snapping on a new pair before trying to grab Holden’s wrist to examine his hand.

“No! I’m fine! My hand is fine!” Holden pulled away his hand and shook it out.

“Is your skin crawling? Or does it feel...tight?”

“No, it’s fine.” Holden held out his hand and frowned at it. It did look a little red, but it wasn’t stinging or burning at all. “I’m fine, thank you. Uh, I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“Not at all.” Harris said unhappily. He squinted.

“Are you sure you feel fine?”

“Yes, yes I’m sure. Thank you for showing me your work.”

Harris grabbed his bicep as he tried to move away. “Just...if you feel weird, make sure you go to the infirmary, alright?”

“Sure.” Holden said, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he moved past him. “Good luck with your...retraction...serum.”

Holden moved to the open space at the front of the lab that was free of shelves and cubicles. He saw Bill making his way over to the front as well. “Where’s Alan?” Holden asked as he reached him.

“Yelling at the poor dumbass who set his lab on fire. I was about ready to set something on fire and escape, myself. He’s a great guy, but boy does he ramble on. Where did you run off to?”

“I toured the lab. Talked to the students about their projects. They’re really up to some fascinating things here.” Holden said as they exited the lab.

They talked about the poisoning case and the RPD’s primary suspects as they walked to the elevator.

“But I don’t think it was the cook. He doesn’t fit the profile. He had opportunity, sure, but so did all the other people working in the kitchen. He has next to no motive to poison the kids, is beloved by everyone at the school, has a happy marriage and a steady income.”

“Yeah, but his alibi is weak. And sure he has motive. Those kids were the ones who tried to put laxatives in the chilli and trashed the kitchens less than a week ago. Why were they the ones who were specifically targeted if it isn’t revenge?”

They reached the elevator and Bill pressed the button. He reached into his coat and took out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up, he took a long drag and continued to toss ideas back and forth with Holden as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

”But that seems like a disproportionate reaction, don’t you think? Especially for someone who hasn’t exhibited any signs of mental instability. I don’t think they even thought to look at the lunch ladies, who have a _much_ stronger motive-“ Holden cut himself off, scowling and scratching his neck. 

The elevator dinged and the numbers above it lighted up. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed and competed for space with the sunshine pouring in through the window. Bill took another drag of the cigarette and frowned.

“I’m sure they’ve looked at the lunch ladies, Holden, they’re not-“

Bill blinked and three things happened at once. There was a soft, _flump_ sound, like clothes falling to the floor. Holden was suddenly nowhere to be seen, and at the spot where his partner had stood a second ago, Bill now saw a pile of clothes lying on the ground. The elevator arrived with a _ding_ and opened.

A lump in the clothes suddenly began to squirm and Bill jumped, dropping the cigarette, his hand automatically going to the holster at his hip. A small head of curly, brown hair poked out of the pile of clothes and a tiny, chubby face looked up at Bill. The kid’s already huge eyes widened further.

“Bill?” the boy squeaked.

Bill let out a puff of smoke.

“Fuck.” he whispered softly.

The elevator closed again with a _ding_.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for what you just read. I’m trying to find a balance between crack and fluff and angst, not entirely sure if I’ll succeed. 
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this because kidfics are cute, Mindhunter is a great show and I didn’t find any de-aging fics in the fandom, and I dunno, it just seemed like a good idea when I started writing it. I’d like to say here that I have absolutely no idea if the FBI had a R&D Dept. in the ‘70s and ‘80s, and I have next to no clue about how the whole organization works, hierarchy-wise. Feel free to educate me if you know!
> 
> If y’all got a kick out of my floundering attempts at writing, pls do let me know. Also, you’re more than welcome to leave suggestions on where this should go, because I’m really just making it up as I go along. I have a rough idea of what’s going on, but that’s more or less it. Where will we end up? Your guess is as good as mine!


End file.
